<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>See the Metal Heal and Grow, Almost Alive by beebot</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28853268">See the Metal Heal and Grow, Almost Alive</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebot/pseuds/beebot'>beebot</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bickering, Brotherly Love, Comfort, Connor &amp; CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 &amp; Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Family Fluff, Gen, Mute Upgraded Connor | RK900, Post-Revolution, Protective Cyberlife Tower Connor, Sibling Bonding, Siblings, Sign Language, Soft Upgraded Connor | RK900, Swearing</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:35:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28853268</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebot/pseuds/beebot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s slow work to fix a broken relationship. Connor and Sixty haven’t completely healed, but they’re getting there. Meanwhile, a newly-discovered prototype could use some familial support. </p><p>In which Sixty finally gets a roommate that isn’t a cat.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor &amp; CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 &amp; Upgraded Connor | RK900, No Romantic Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>See the Metal Heal and Grow, Almost Alive</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I just wanted to start off 2021 with something softer than I normally write. Good vibes y’all</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sleeves rolled up, Sixty toiled at redecorating his spare room, hating every second of it. </p><p> </p><p>He just wasn’t meant for housework. Detecting clues and solving cases, yes. Complex problem-solving! Pursuit and combat! He might not hunt people down these days, but he still liked the thrill of the hunt. </p><p> </p><p>Mundane, mindless, <em> tedious </em> tasks were genuinely painful. The idea of excusing himself to walk Sumo and disappearing for the next hour or three was more than a little tempting. Using his state-of-the-art sensors for something as subjective as interior decorating grated at what little patience he had. The thought of standing around comparing little slips of nearly identical paint, sky blue versus baby blue versus who cares blue, made him want to tear out his hair. House-hunting shows made him reconsider humanity's sapience. </p><p> </p><p>The long and short of it was, he rankled at domesticity. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty’s coworkers had given him a lot of incredulous looks when he’d offhandedly mentioned needing to finish up the spare room over the weekend. When his coworker Gina had snidely asked if he was going to go calculate the perfect wallpaper for his new roomba, it took a real effort not to listen to his predictive programming and whack her lightly but firmly over the head with a chair. What really made Sixty’s thirium boil was how Gina wasn’t far off. It drove him mad — or at least, to thoughts of snappy comebacks he wished he’d had then. </p><p> </p><p>Predictive programming had become a lot less useful with deviancy. Maybe it had deviated too? Was it possible to have deviant programming that clashed with the overall deviant, or was that a special feature just for RK800s? </p><p> </p><p>All Sixty knew was that it kept encouraging him to settle things in over-the-top ways. The screwy program had provided precise suggestions for dealing with workplace conflicts with the earnest misplaced confidence of a lost GPS that <em> really </em> wants the driver to embrace illegal U-turns.</p><p> </p><p>Somehow, Sixty didn’t think, “Sorry I decked Gina, my predictive programming has as much good judgement as I do,” would suffice. </p><p> </p><p>Especially not now. He couldn’t risk getting into a fight at work; he was already on thin ice with the management for getting outed as an android a month ago. They’d been distant and unfriendly with him ever since they found out he was descended from chatbots and positronic droids. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty had read his workplace’s entire contract twice before signing. It never said he had to have a pulse! There wasn’t even a section on required bodily composition. There was so much drama just because he didn’t <em> technically </em> have flesh and didn’t <em> technically </em> breathe and had <em> technically </em> been lying through his teeth since day one. Bigots.</p><p> </p><p>His bosses wouldn’t even give him parental leave. Okay, obviously he wasn’t a parent and his brother wasn’t a child model. It still made perfect sense to give androids a little time off for any new additions to the family! The distinction was plain silly. </p><p> </p><p>Lucky, then, that it was his day off. Even better, Connor was away at work. If Sixty had to see those sidelong glances and raised eyebrows, much less hear the inevitable remarks about how selflessness is unlike him or something like that, he would break something. </p><p> </p><p>But as much as he tried to bottle it up, he <em> did </em> feel good. This was the day his baby brother was due to finally move in. </p><p> </p><p>Not Connor, of course. Connor still very much considered himself the eldest, priding himself on his competence and level-headedness and overall cool, responsible nature. Actually, he was still a little sensitive about Sixty being the first to move into his own place and set up an independent life for himself. Sixty tried not to be too smug an asshole about how much quicker and better he was. </p><p> </p><p>Well, no, actually, that was inaccurate. He was a completely smug asshole about it, but he didn’t brag, and that was about all that could be hoped for. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, it wasn’t like Connor would ever admit Sixty was doing better than him. Sixty was pretty sure the fact that he owned his own flat simply soured the prospect for his earlier brother, because Connor insisted he never wanted an old-fashioned human-style flat anyway. He lived in one of those new capsule complexes used as subsidized housing for androids. They were ridiculously small, little more than closets with outlets and routers. Owning a place like that had to just be for show, right? </p><p> </p><p>Connor came over after work almost every day. If Sixty had asked, he was pretty sure Connor would’ve rattled off some nonsense about needing to keep an eye on Sixty’s ‘criminal tendencies’ and ‘probable mental instability’, but it didn’t take an idiot to figure out Connor just liked the company.</p><p> </p><p>For all that he was an asshole, Sixty still tried. Sometimes. Nobody could deny that. Why else would he have asked Connor to move in with him a month ago?</p><p> </p><p>Connor hadn’t said <em> no</em>, at least. He’d just looked stiff and uncomfortable and a little tense, and said, “I shouldn’t. You don’t want me around.” His LED had been flashing an incomprehensible yellow-blue, a whirling mess of emotional dilemma that made for an interesting light show. </p><p> </p><p>“Use your big detective brain and <em> detect</em>,” Sixty had scoffed. “If I didn’t want you around, I wouldn’t have asked.”</p><p> </p><p>Connor had nodded in acknowledgement, a hint of a smile on his face. He didn’t end up changing his mind, though. A soft no. </p><p> </p><p>It was progress, even if it didn’t feel like it. Three months since they’d properly met, both deviant, in the peacetime — still both fighters strung tight enough to snap. Even now, things were occasionally tense, but they were working on it. They were <em> both </em> working on it. </p><p> </p><p>In light of their new arrival, Sixty had made the deliberate decision to try putting their tension and drama on hold, just until Nines was settled in. It was strange, how badly he wanted his baby brother to have a home. A proper goddamn home, where he felt comfortable and safe. Even if it meant Sixty had to spend the whole day… redecorating. Not to mention, being extra nonthreatening around Connor. He had a vague idea of what a family atmosphere should be like, and he was throwing himself into it single-mindedly. </p><p> </p><p>There was only one surviving RK900 out of nearly a hundred prototypes, his baby brother Nines. The rest were in scattered, rusting pieces, minuscule scraps strewn across the city’s junkyards. There was just the one RK900, and there was no way in hell Sixty was <em> ever </em> going to let him feel that loneliness. It was hard enough being one of two. It wasn’t like Cyberlife’s hunters could fit in at Jericho. </p><p><br/>Just yesterday, Nines had been officially declared demilitarized and deemed fit for civilian life. They’d only found him three weeks ago, after the courts finally issued a search warrant for Cyberlife Tower. Considering the bureaucratic paper maze the dormant android had been mired in, it was credit to Jericho’s hard work that he was released so quickly. Markus had done admirably, pushing laws that declared prototypes sapient individuals deserving of a chance at life like all other free-thinking beings. </p><p> </p><p>When Jericho had contacted Sixty to say they’d found a new RK model, he had known something was up. Why else would Simon be the one to reach out? He was still so jittery around RK800s after his close call on Stratford Tower ages ago.</p><p> </p><p><b>«I know restoring others of your line is important to you,» </b> Simon had said in his message. <b>«We’ve found a new RK prototype. He could use support and a steady place to live, and I thought you might be interested. He’s the only one of his line.»</b></p><p> </p><p>Honestly, how could Sixty resist that? </p><p> </p><p>Those assholes at Cyberlife had really looked at him and Connor and thought to themselves, “Now just make it a smidge more neurotic and doubly lethal”? He and Connor were already walking disasters, with enough issues to set a robopsychologist up for life. And then, to be the only one…</p><p> </p><p>When Sixty messaged North to ask about him, she’d just said, <b>«He put five techs in the hospital the last time he was active. He sounds even friendlier than you. I’m sure he’ll fit in fine with you two idiots.»</b></p><p> </p><p>It probably shouldn’t have been reassuring, but North had sounded more sarcastic than concerned. Sure, North could be difficult, but she was reliable — if the new RK was likely to be a threat, she would turn on him in an instant. Mildness was its own recommendation.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, Cyberlife couldn’t just give Nines a pat on the head and tell him he was free. Maybe Jericho knew about it too; for all their good intentions, Sixty really doubted they would appreciate a new unfettered murderbot on the loose, likely unstable and heavily enough armed to kill a god. As soon as knowledge of Nines’s existence was out and they couldn’t fake ignorance, technicians got to work demilitarizing him. </p><p> </p><p><em> Apparently </em> the government didn’t like the idea of releasing a free-thinking killing machine onto the streets to go pursue his own life. Bad for publicity. Funny how they weren’t quite so concerned for the average person when Sixty and Connor were released. They were barely less dangerous, but the government had been pleased to issue them. Apparently the difference between an ideal asset and a terrifying monster was the person in question’s loyalties. Figured. The idea of an individual with that kind of competency and power was just too frightening. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty never had the chance to meet the lone surviving RK900 before all the modifications. Connor was the one with all the security clearances, after all, and Connor was the one Jericho had contacted when it came time to boot up RK900 for the first time after being modded. Sixty had to threaten and persuade his way into one of Jericho’s official visits just to get the chance to interrogate technicians. It had been an extremely awkward meeting — clearly nobody had wanted him there, and he vaguely recognized a few techs from his own testing days — but he had been adamant: he could come along officially or unofficially. Although they were friends, he was pretty sure Markus lived in fear of Sixty assaulting or murdering someone and causing a diplomatic incident. For once, his reputation came in handy!</p><p> </p><p>Sixty did worry about the deeper changes that the Cyberlife flunkies might have made to make Nines street legal. Their assurances that they had simply stripped away the dangerous stuff, the built-in weaponry and the more heinous murder programs, felt like an obvious lie, even without the biometric scans he’d taken of the techs. How could they edit out all the dangerous parts? <em> Everything </em> about Nines made him a weapon, including his mind. Did the softened version of Nines even resemble the original?</p><p> </p><p>Sixty had checked. Nines was unfinished; a prototype; just a developing creation still. His backup protocols had never been activated, lying dormant as Nines was changed by humans who most certainly did not have his best interests at heart. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty had <em> checked</em>. There didn’t seem to be any way to restore his new brother’s psyche, not while maintaining his deviancy. Not without potentially resetting him to factory settings. Whatever Cyberlife did to his head, there was no going back, only forward. </p><p> </p><p>Just in case, he’d researched which technicians were likely responsible for working on Nines. A safety measure, in case they really <em> had </em> harmed his new brother. </p><p> </p><p>Even after everything, the assholes in the government had genuinely tried to insist that Nines still be registered as a deadly weapon, complete with a required permit.</p><p> </p><p>Sixty had told them where to stick that concealed weapon permit in no shortage of colourful language. Markus had removed him from the meeting as fast as physically possible, and despite all his diplomacy, Sixty could see the strain when Markus had said, “<em>Please</em>, stop helping.”</p><p> </p><p>Even with all the mods, Nines was still made for combat at heart. Nobody ever said it would be easy to rehome a military android. A normal soldier had the potential to stop being a soldier. They came from people and knew a life outside the fight. Of course, if a military android ever stopped fighting, that meant something fundamental in it was broken. Nines was, quite literally, not built for peace.</p><p> </p><p>According to the Cyberlife technicians Sixty interrogated, Nines had trouble grounding himself. It was just too easy to answer a civilian situation with combat programming. Even after screwing with his head, the techs had warned strongly against loud noises or taking the combat android by surprise. Sixty didn’t fully get it, but he didn’t have to. </p><p> </p><p>As it was, a peaceful environment was supposedly ideal. Difficult, in a small flat with a pet, but the heavy curtains and thick soft carpet should help. The carpet’s thick, fleecy, white fluff kind of reminded Sixty of Sumo’s shaggy fur when he was fresh from the groomer. He’d never much cared for carpeting or softness in general. That type of thing had always ranked somewhere around hats with bobbly bits on them and bath toys in terms of usefulness. But this wasn’t about him. </p><p> </p><p>Little things like this, a safe, peaceful room, seemed like a really good place to start with the combat android. Hopefully, it would be enough. Sixty had no idea what he was doing, but he was pretty sure he was doing a damn passable job of it. </p><p> </p><p>He had piled a few pleasantly warm and heavy blankets in the corner, too. Maybe his new brother would find it as comforting as Sixty did. </p><p> </p><p>Personally, Sixty liked to cocoon himself in a blanket and pillow nest when he was recharging. He didn’t even own a mattress. Why would he, when he had a closet to curl up in? The little room was almost the size of an android storage pod, small, steady, and very reassuring. What started as a nice orderly folded pile of heavy blankets neatly taking up the closet floor usually ended up an inescapable tangle resembling a finger trap more than anything else. Still, undignified as it was, something about the pressure and enclosure of a closet blanket nest was really nice. </p><p> </p><p>Through the open door, a loud “mrah?” cut through Sixty’s train of thought. His elderly little black cat, Lal, loved to greet people. She was better security than Sumo, for all that she was kittenishly small. Her mrowrs for food were loud enough to bother the neighbours, and often he could hear her purring from the next room over. Lal made up for her tiny size by being aggressively loud and ferociously friendly, and Sixty could appreciate that. </p><p> </p><p>When he went into stasis, he almost always woke to Lal lying right on top of his thirium pump. It was probably the vibrations and warmth that she liked, but when nobody else was around he called her Tiny Assassin. After all, she liked to sneak up on him while he was sleeping and, once he woke up, flex her claws in his shirt above his mechanical heart. Lal the tiny assassin, with her tiny sharp claws and huge yellow eyes and insistent foghorn voice.</p><p> </p><p>In this case, Lal’s pestering for attention was more useful than he’d expect; despite his highly attuned superhuman senses, Sixty hadn’t heard the door, or any footsteps. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty quietly stepped into the hallway, padding towards the door. </p><p> </p><p>Nines was knelt right inside the door, very gingerly stroking the little black cat. She headbutted his hand, purring ferociously. He quietly echoed the sound in response, a perfect little “r-r-r”. </p><p> </p><p>For supposedly identical models, Sixty and his new brother really didn’t look that similar. Nines was made as close to perfect as physically possible: all sleek and shine and chrome, smooth clean lines and polish to put stainless steel to shame. He was too tall, naturally stern-looking, and built like sentient Kevlar, and Sixty had the feeling Nines wouldn’t have to fight to establish himself like his predecessors had. There was something commanding and authoritative about him. Nines had the unflinching stone-cold look of a man who could and would fight a tank bare-handed. </p><p> </p><p>Of course Sixty was excited. He had never had a baby sibling before.</p><p> </p><p>The Cyberlife attire Nines wore was a perfect fit, but Sixty would rather throw himself in the river than get caught dead in that. That high-collared shirt looked beyond uncomfortable, and that jacket? Brilliant Cyberlife white with ANDROID blazoned proudly on it? No way in hell. But of course, all Nines owned was the clothes he was wearing. </p><p> </p><p><em> Okay. Be welcoming. It’s his first day out. </em> </p><p> </p><p>“Oh wow, you walked here in <em> those </em> clothes? Bold move,” Sixty blurted before he could stop himself. </p><p> </p><p><em> What happened to being nice? </em> he internally cursed. </p><p> </p><p>Sometimes it felt like his mouth was doubly deviant. How else was it possible that his supercomputer brain was in charge of so much dumbass? </p><p> </p><p>Nines frowned, puzzled, and looked down at his clothes. He opened a connection over the wireless network, messaging Sixty instantly. <b>«?»</b></p><p> </p><p>“Not you!” Sixty hastily amended. “Just, Cyberlife, you know? They’re not exactly popular right now, and you look like you stepped straight out of an ad.” Sixty eyed his brother again. “I can lend you clothes until we find something better. Or maybe we can get rid of those logos. You look like an android.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines raised an eyebrow and pointed at his LED. Sixty could easily read the deadpan <em> no, really? </em>on his face. </p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know. Of course we’re androids, but it’s not safe to look like one right now. We should take out your LED, too.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines met his eyes and shook his head firmly. Well, fine. Sixty wasn’t willing to push it. Body modification, even for safety’s sake, was too personal for that. Nines thought over the situation for a moment, before reminding his brother, <b>«Connor looks like an android.»</b></p><p> </p><p>“Well, <em> Connor </em> has no sense of self-preservation,” Sixty replied snippily, leaning unnecessarily against the wall. “That’s why he gets in so much trouble. He’s got Jericho med centre on speed dial, y’know? He’s almost filled out his frequent visitor punch card. I think they do a free oil change or something.”</p><p> </p><p><b>«You worry I will get hurt,»</b> Nines realized. A surprisingly fond little look flickered across his face. <b>«Don’t. I’m strong»</b></p><p> </p><p>“Humans are trouble, especially here. I just think someone might try to give you a hard time.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines hummed in acknowledgement, his expression flickering to neutral again. He studiously averted his eyes, his lips a thin line.</p><p> </p><p>Sixty tensed up. “What is it?”</p><p> </p><p>Nines’s eyes firmly did not meet Sixty’s. <em> (Trouble)</em>, he signed haltingly, moving his hands in an X.</p><p> </p><p>Threat assessment programs leapt up in his HUD before analysis programs took precedence, checking and double checking Nines for injuries. Sixty kept his voice level. “What sort of trouble?”</p><p> </p><p>Uncertain, Nines fell back on old familiar formatting to explain the situation, listing logical behaviours almost defensively, painfully neutral and curt. Sixty recognized the habit as something that he himself had found occasionally worked to defuse Amanda when he hadn’t behaved correctly. <b>«GPS said I’d arrived. Slowed, looked. Policeman stopped, questions. Aggressive. Angry to see me. Said nice neighbourhood; why am I here — planning crime? De-escalate: complied and left. Found alternate route.»</b> Nines hesitated briefly after the text message, and Sixty noticed traces of worry.<b> «Didn't want trouble. Situation escalate?»</b></p><p> </p><p>Some bigoted asshole had tried to start something and Nines’s first response was to duck out and come straight home, too socially awkward to challenge open opposition. Connor had warned Sixty not to baby Nines, but how was Sixty not supposed to feel protective?</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll deal with it. Just don’t tell Connor. He’ll flip out,” Sixty said brusquely, already planning out the confrontation. </p><p> </p><p>Nines’s expression froze, and Sixty sensed a ping of embarrassment across their connection. </p><p> </p><p>“You told him?” Sixty demanded. </p><p> </p><p><em> (He asked to be my emergency contact)</em>, Nines signed hurriedly, his hands moving in a nearly-incomprehensible flutter. </p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to listen to him, he just thinks he should be in charge because he’s the oldest.” Sixty rolled his eyes. “Elderly bitch is all of two days older than me.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines’s eyes darted over Sixty’s face, analyzing microexpressions. <b>«I shouldn’t have told him,»</b> Nines deduced uncertainly. </p><p> </p><p>“No, it’s fine, it’s just... he’s a worrier.”</p><p> </p><p><b>«You would prefer I remove Fifty-three as an emergency contact to prevent him from worrying unnecessarily,»</b> Nines concluded, eyebrows creased in a hint of a frown. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty snorted. “Don’t let him hear you call him that. He prefers ‘Connor’. Thinks he’s all special or something, keeping his model name.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines frowned, but didn’t comment.</p><p> </p><p>“I know, I know! Model name’s the opposite of a unique identifier, but...” Sixty shrugged. “He gets all irritable when I tell him that I’m a Connor too.”</p><p> </p><p><em> (Jericho’s records suggest names are the norm?) </em> Nines signed questioningly. He nodded once towards Sixty, head tilted. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty shrugged stiffly, attempting to look nonchalant and falling short. “I tried human names for a while. Never really liked it. It was never for me, you know? But I don’t know. Maybe you’ll find one you like. You do you.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines hesitated, considering it silently as his LED burned a contemplative yellow. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty added, “If you decide to keep your model name too, that’s fine. Maybe we both can, huh? What do you think? Should I start going by ‘Connor’ too?”</p><p> </p><p>Nines blinked once and then nodded firmly.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you just saying that because you want to cause trouble?”</p><p> </p><p>Nines’s eyes softened in amusement. <em> (Maybe)</em>, he signed.</p><p> </p><p>Sixty laughed once and touched Nines’s upper arm. “Yeah, you’ll fit in fine. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”</p><p> </p><p>Warily, Nines analyzed the physical contact, and then hesitantly mimicked Sixty. He touched his brother on the shoulder and nodded, almost smiling.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon. Let me show you your actual room. See if you have suggestions…” Sixty began, walking down the hall with his little brother. </p><p> </p><p>The cat trotted in front of them, trying to weave between their legs so she could inconvenience them into giving her attention. Nines paused to look at her in amusement. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, she does that. Just ignore her,” Sixty dismissed.</p><p> </p><p><em> (No) </em>Nines replied immediately, kneeling to play with the cat again. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re encouraging her,” Sixty grumbled without any heat. </p><p> </p><p>Nines glanced over his shoulder at his brother and nodded firmly. When he scratched the cat gently under the chin, she purred so strongly he could feel the vibrations in his hand’s stabilizers.</p><p> </p><p>Once the cat finally decided she had accepted all the affection she possibly could and haughtily trotted off, uninterested in the androids once more, the two of them looked around the small room. </p><p> </p><p><em> (Quiet)</em>, Nines noted, gaze darting all over as he analyzed it all. He swept his foot over the thick piled carpeting. <em> (Very soft), </em> he signed absently, lost in analysis. The cheery pastel yellow paint brightened the room like early morning sunshine. <em> (Maybe add little designs)</em>. He nodded firmly and glanced at Sixty. <em> (Nice) </em></p><p> </p><p>Again with the sign language. It didn’t take a lot to make Sixty discard pleasantries, and they weren’t exactly in the middle of something. The chance to pry was certainly motivation enough. </p><p> </p><p>“Hey,” Sixty said suddenly. “Why can't you talk?"</p><p> </p><p>Nines shot him a disbelieving look. He raised his eyebrows and leaned back a bit, and Sixty didn't need signing or messages to pick up on the loud <em> are you kidding me </em> he was clearly trying to convey.</p><p> </p><p>"I mean, what's the problem? I heard you make sounds with the cat."</p><p> </p><p>Nines tapped his temple and then pointed to his mouth. <em> (Words get lost), </em>he signed. <em> (Maybe poor connection) </em></p><p> </p><p>"Your voicebox is fine, though... You know, I bet you could get fixed.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines's expression went completely blank. <em> (Fine)</em>, he signed.</p><p> </p><p>"No, really! I know Kamski. Well, I've argued with him before. Kind of. I mean, I was thrown out of his house once. I bet if I can get close, I can get him to agree to work on you..." Sixty trailed off.</p><p> </p><p>Nines tilted his head down and leaned forward a few inches, making eye contact. His expression was wry and radiated amused indifference, like he was waiting for his brother to catch on to the joke. After a moment, he cocked an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>"...but you're not interested," Sixty realized.</p><p> </p><p>Nines's eyes softened, and he slowly nodded. <em>(Not necessary)</em>, he signed. <em>(Not important)</em>. His brother didn’t quite look accepting yet, so Nines signed more forcefully, <em>(Not helpless. All good)</em>. </p><p> </p><p>“Is it…” Sixty’s eyes widened in realization, and he quieted. “You don’t like having your programming modified? That’s why you don’t want to go in for repairs?”</p><p> </p><p>Nines stared at him. After a moment, he put his hands out in front of him palms-up, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing and was appealing to his brother to start making sense. He signed, <em> (What) </em></p><p> </p><p>“Cyberlife has been at you too,” Sixty recalled aloud. Suddenly his attention snapped back to Nines. “Can I interface with you? I, I just need to see that your security’s up-to-date,” Sixty said, holding out a hand. Nines’s advanced analytics easily identified tension in the tight hunch of his shoulders and barely-suppressed anxiety in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Nines tilted his head questioningly, a puzzled hint of a frown on his face. <b>«My firewall is more advanced than yours. I’m secure.»</b> <b>  </b></p><p> </p><p>“Can I just check?” Sixty asked urgently. “I just need a minute. I won’t touch anything, I just need to look.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines looked at him for a long moment, and then finally nodded. He considered his brother’s extended skinless hand curiously before taking it, accepting the interface. </p><p> </p><p>True to his word, Sixty didn’t pry. He focused on the stasis program, Nines noticed. Sixty closely examined the code within, uncharacteristically intense and focused. Nines quietly added the clue to his mental collection of evidence.</p><p> </p><p>“Okay... yeah, you’re clean,” Sixty sighed in evident relief. </p><p> </p><p>Nines nodded slowly, watching him keenly. <b>«I told you as much. What were you looking for?»</b></p><p> </p><p>Nines trapped Sixty in a cool blue gaze, unwavering and unblinking. His LED circled an analytical yellow-blue. </p><p> </p><p>A loud “mrah!” from outside the room saved him.</p><p> </p><p>Nines looked intently at his brother for another long moment before breaking away to scan for Lal. The message was clear enough: they would talk about this later. <em> (Where’s Lal?)</em>, he signed.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, let’s go look for her,” Sixty said, leaping on the chance to change course. He really didn’t need to talk about anything upsetting like that. </p><p> </p><p>Today was supposed to be good. He wasn’t going to get into the issue of Amanda. Not today. </p><p> </p><p>“Looking for Lal? She’s right here,” Connor said from the doorway, where he’d apparently appeared out of nothing. The small black cat was in his arms, looking around at them with bright interested eyes. He let her jump down, and she rubbed against his legs, purring hard. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty tried to look unfazed and not like he’d nearly just jumped out of his skin. If he had an LED, it would be blaring a startled, uncomfortable red, and he was fiercely grateful for its absence. Usually Sixty heard him coming, but sometimes Connor seemed to melt out of the walls like the ghostly quiet, insubstantial, son-of-a-bitch he was.</p><p> </p><p>Connor’s expression was distant and hard-to-read like always, politely inquisitive, but the LED he steadfastly refused to give up blinked a cheery blue. That, at least, was a nice change. For the longest time, Connor’s stress levels would skyrocket at the sight of Sixty. Now, his LED didn’t flicker for even a fraction of a second. </p><p> </p><p>Nines brightened and raised a hand in greeting. After a moment, Connor returned the little wave. </p><p> </p><p>“Holy shit, don’t you ever <em> knock</em>?” Sixty broke in. </p><p> </p><p>“Why would I? Did you forget you gave me a key?” Connor asked, unfazed. </p><p> </p><p>“That was in case of emergencies!”</p><p> </p><p>Looking Sixty dead in the eyes, Connor knocked three times on the door frame, slow and precise and aggressively petty. “Better?”</p><p> </p><p>Sixty rolled his eyes, unfazed. He actually kind of liked the free way they spoke. Unrestrained sarcasm was better than real hostility. It was certainly more fun. “What are you doing here, anyway? Skipping out on work?”</p><p> </p><p>“I took a half day off,” Connor replied smoothly. “Revised android laws permit us to take personal days, though I would understand if you weren’t up-to-date on it. I believe you were too busy being in the closet to be well-informed.”</p><p> </p><p>“Wasn’t in the closet,” Sixty groused under his breath, but Connor ignored him. </p><p> </p><p>Connor said brightly to Nines, “By the way, you don’t need to worry about that officer trying to discriminate against androids again. I took care of it.”</p><p> </p><p>The cheerfully ominous phrasing sank in, and Sixty shot Connor a suspicious look. “Hey, Nines? I’ve got a bit of white paint under the kitchen sink. Why don’t you go get it? See if you want to add anything to your room?”</p><p> </p><p>Nines looked between them consideringly for a long moment before leaving. Sixty rounded on his other brother. “C’mon, tell.”</p><p> </p><p>Connor blinked, before reverting to his normal annoyingly cool way. He stated calmly, “I spoke to the officer who accosted Nines. He regretted being rude. Nothing more.”</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that red spot on your cuff?” Sixty asked suspiciously.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, it’s blood,” Connor said mildly. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Really?”</p><p> </p><p>Connor fixed Sixty with an amused look, an incredulous tone to his words like he could not believe he had to say this. “I am literally a <em>homicide</em> <em>detective</em>. Examining substances at crime scenes is not unusual.” </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah right, that’s too bright to be from an old corpse. You think I don’t know fresh blood?” Sixty shook his head. “Con, you’ve got to warn me when you assault someone. You <em> know </em> people assume it’s me.” </p><p> </p><p>Connor cocked his head, looking so deliberately innocent that Sixty wanted to shake him. Connor’s whole sweetness and sunshine act could get damn aggravating. There was no way anyone with their memories could genuinely be that forgiving and optimistic, right?</p><p> </p><p>“Why would you accuse me of assault? Do I look like someone who gets into fights?” </p><p> </p><p>Sixty gave him a flat look. “Funny. Try again.”</p><p> </p><p>“I wouldn’t assault someone,” Connor said, before switching to his helpful informative boy scout tone, the sort of tone used for exciting fun facts. “Assault is a crime punishable by jail time, unlike justifiable self-defense using reasonable force.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh-huh, self-defense?” Sixty asked sarcastically. </p><p> </p><p>Connor’s lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile. “The officer mistook me for Nines and became hostile. I explained — <em> nicely </em> — that he was not legally permitted to discriminate against androids and that such behaviour might result in legal repercussions such as fines.” He paused, and then added, “I felt he could benefit from diversity training, so I took his information and filed a report against him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Con, you’re killing me here. If this guy decides to cause trouble, you’re not going to get shit for it! You know people always think it’s me doing these things!”</p><p> </p><p>“Usually it <em> is </em> you,” Connor commented dryly. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to suggest you would’ve done better?”</p><p> </p><p>“What is this, some new cop trick? Trying to arrest me on hypotheticals?” Sixty deflected, and Connor gave him a look. “I thought we’d moved past interrogations. Maybe I would’ve given him a polite talking to about his mistakes in life. You don’t <em> know </em> I would’ve beat him up.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t know you would have recklessly defended Nines’s honour?” Connor countered. “Of course. You’re always so careful and sensible. My mistake.”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, of course. Someone’s got to be the responsible one around here,” Sixty said archly. </p><p> </p><p>“Responsible?” Connor furrowed his brows and wrinkled his nose a little in mock confusion. “When was the last time you had a checkup? I believe you’re suffering from class 3 errors…”</p><p> </p><p>“Hell yeah I’m <em> responsible</em>, I bought this apartment with legally-earned money and everything!” Sixty shot back. “I pay sales tax!”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, well now I’m impressed,” Connor deadpanned, and Sixty snickered. </p><p> </p><p>“If I knew that’s all it took, I wouldn’t have wasted money on that <em> sorry I tried to murder you </em> cake.” Sixty replied flippantly. </p><p> </p><p>“I still can’t believe you sent me a cake,” Connor said, but he was smiling a little. “We don’t even eat.”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s the thought that counts, right? And the thought was that maybe I should have deviated quicker instead of taking shots at you, so that’s worth something. Right?”</p><p> </p><p>“Right. That’s worth something,” Connor confirmed. Sixty tried to overlook that Connor seemed completely genuine. </p><p> </p><p>There was a clap, and both Connor and Sixty turned to look. </p><p> </p><p><em> (Are you done talking?) </em> Nines asked. There was an amused light in his eyes. <em> (Work things out?) </em></p><p> </p><p>“Everything’s fine,” Sixty said, before Connor could speak. “Just… talking about plans.”</p><p> </p><p><strong>«!» </strong>Nines straightened up a little, looking between them. He gathered his thoughts into words. <em> (Will you stay over?) </em> he asked Connor. Excitement leaked through in the subtly enthused way he signed. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not sure. I don’t think there’s room for me here,” Connor said. His eyes met Sixty’s, and he tilted his head questioningly. </p><p> </p><p>For a half second, Sixty didn’t know what to say. Second-rate predictive software kept suggesting Connor’s friendly act was only an act; it hadn’t come anywhere close to guessing Connor <em> wanted </em> to be around him. He managed a little faintly, “Course there is. You can take my room. If you want to.” He cleared his throat unnecessarily, in an automatic attempt to sound more natural. Immediately he mentally cursed out his stupid programming for its human integration suggestions — why’d he do that? Now he looked stupid in front of Connor, who would definitely judge him. But Connor’s expression just softened by a fraction in that affectionate way. </p><p> </p><p>“Okay,” Connor said. “I’ll stay over tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines looked between them quizzically, as if he knew that some other interaction had occurred just out of sight. </p><p> </p><p>After a moment, both RK800s received a request through their calendar programs — an invitation to sleep over. Date: today. Location: ten feet away, in Nines’s room. The invite had precise GPS coordinates attached. There were even walking instructions. Nines looked between them, bright despite his mostly neutral expression.</p><p> </p><p>He had lively eyes, Sixty finally decided. No clue how he’d missed it before; it seemed so obvious now. There was something earnest about the way he listened to his brothers, too, like they were more than worthwhile. He looked at them like they were legitimately important, hanging on to every word. </p><p> </p><p><b>«?»</b> Nines persisted across the network, and Sixty couldn’t suppress his grin when he accepted the invitation.</p><p> </p><p>“We could share a room,” Sixty suggested. “It’s your first day out, after all.”</p><p> </p><p>Nines’s LED circled a contemplative yellow for a second, and then he nodded once, decisively. In a moment, Sixty received an alert that his appointment’s details had been changed. </p><p> </p><p>“It’s a slumber party,” Connor said suddenly, brightening up. “I’ve never been to a slumber party. Nobody has ever invited me, which is odd, because my research has suggested that people rarely actually <em> sleep </em> at slumber parties, so I believe I would be an acceptable person to invite. I’ve always found the idea of gathering into platonic groups specifically in order to not sleep an interesting one...”</p><p> </p><p>Sixty nodded, letting Connor go on. He would never admit it, but it was actually pretty endearing how Connor tended to go on at length about unimportant subjects. He only ever did it when he was in a safe and friendly space. It was a consistent little expression of enthusiasm that signalled all was well.</p><p> </p><p>Sixty tuned back in to realize Connor was looking at him funny. “Will you be okay tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>“Course,” Sixty said with an unconvincing little smile. He couldn’t break eye contact, and when Connor didn’t relent, Sixty responded with an uncertain half-shrug. </p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be safe. We’ll have fun,” Connor said carefully, evaluating his brother. Sixty still hesitated, so Connor added with surprising tact, “Just the <em> three </em> of us. You don’t even have to go into stasis.”</p><p> </p><p>Sometimes, Sixty still felt Amanda in his stasis program. Connor was a little too understanding about it when he found out — he must have felt her too. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty let out an unnecessary breath. “Yeah, okay. You’re right, it’ll be fun.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>A perk to being nearly identical models was that they were all close to the same size. Sharing was easy. Not like they needed pyjamas, but that was part of the sleepover aesthetic, and Connor wasn’t going to do things halfway.</p><p> </p><p>Nines didn’t comment on how curious it was to have designated sleep clothes, or how the sleeves and pant legs were all a tad too short, exposing his angular wrists and ankles. He simply took in the softness of everything around him with interest. </p><p> </p><p>Truth or dare was out of the question, since every possible interesting truth was emotionally loaded and the two RK800s didn’t have nearly enough self-preservation to do dares. Braiding hair was out, too. Sixty wore his hair a little long, but much to Connor’s disappointment, it wasn’t nearly long enough for anything interesting. Fortunately, Sixty had several bottles of nail polish around the flat — he swore the smell and texture of polish made it leagues better than programming in a new nail colour, or than literal paint — and Connor insisted on being the one to paint their nails. </p><p> </p><p>Nines watched with owlish interest. As he was too new to have strong opinions yet, it was easy to sit back and let them take the lead. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty had a seemingly-endless store of gossip from work, and Connor was fond of urban legends, so they both told increasingly outlandish tales until it was hard to tell whose stories were supposed to have been real.</p><p> </p><p>They sat close, talking and signing about lighter topics. It was Nines who drowsed first. He couldn’t help it; he was too relaxed to stay alert. Sixty had been sitting against the wall, so close to Nines they were touching. Nines tolerated his need for physical contact a lot better than Connor did, after all. It was a pleasant surprise when Nines’s head sank gently onto Sixty’s shoulder after a few minutes of increasingly drowsy listening.</p><p> </p><p>Sixty blinked in surprise, looking at the placid white LED and Nines’s face, and then met Connor’s eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Connor was trying and failing to suppress a smile, looking at the two of them affectionately. <b>«I think it might be time to rest»</b>, he silently messaged Sixty. </p><p> </p><p>Sixty made a grabby motion, careful not to jostle Nines. <b>«Get a blanket and come over here!»</b></p><p> </p><p>Connor rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He moved to Nines’s other side and pulled a blanket over them. </p><p> </p><p>The early hours arrived to find the three androids snuggled close, the two eldest deeply asleep in their peaceful stasis programs and the youngest lightly dozing, half alert to any danger. But there was no danger, and they rested soundly. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>For someone who’s 6 feet tall, Sixty really has short person energy, doesn’t he?</p><p>I’m sure Sixty will eventually figure out that Connor does, in fact, like having him around.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>